Not a Saint
by Lucere
Summary: (Complete) She is not a Saint, not a Krusnik nor a Lilith. She is Esther, plain Esther, with sometimes a Sister attached before. Abel/Esther, Manga Universe
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer:** Trinity Blood is copyrighted by Sunao Yoshida and Kiyo Kyujyo. I lay no claim of ownership to the title, and I make no profit from writing this story.

**AN:** I first started this in 2007 when I was obsessed with Esther and Abel's characters in the manga. Now, six years later, I finally went with the ending I originally intended and here we are. My first completed story that is not a oneshot! (Ignore the fact that it is only two chapters long; these are long chapters, dang it! There is Plot!). At any rate, I hope you enjoy reading the story! It takes place after Esther and Abel return from the Empire in the manga and veers off in its own direction.

**Chapter 1**

Esther sighed. "I hate intrigue, you know." Her words were meant for her partner, but said partner was currently…amiss, in his attentions.

"Esther, Esther!" The silver-haired man was clapping his hands delightedly, not unlike a child. "Look what I found!"

Esther hit him upside the head when she saw. "Oh, grow up would you!" she groused, rolling her eyes when her partner muttered something about unappreciative young women. Abel was currently eyeing a piece of finely wrapped chocolate through a shop window.

"I didn't know they made chocolate in the shape of guns…" Abel mused, stroking his chin. "I'll have to buy some for Tres next time we're here. At the moment I'll just-"

"At the moment," Esther interrupted, "we're broke thanks to Father's bottomless pit for a stomach, and we have a mission to finish."

Abel turned pitiful eyes on the nun. "Party pooper."

Esther suppressed another growl and decided to ignore the man. Taking out her map from her pocket, the nun scanned the contents distantly. The two, Esther and Abel, had returned to Rome just this morning from the Empire, when they had been drawn aside by the Cardinal. Or, more specifically, Abel had been drawn aside while Esther had been assigned to collect supplies for their upcoming mission. Esther was fine with being excluded, expected it, really, but she felt the slightest bit resentful when two hours passed by and still no word from her partner.

As it turned out, Abel had finished talking with the Cardinal thirty minutes after they met, and had wandered into the kitchens to wheedle food from the cooks. He was praising a young and blushing girl to the stars, when Esther threw open the door. The girl took one look at the sister and abruptly fled. Abel looked around confusedly before he finally saw Esther. The man smiled brightly at his partner.

"Oh, hi, Esther! Where have you been?"

"_That's my line."_ There was an ominous look on the sister's face. Abel eyed her shaking fists worriedly.

"You okay there, Esther? You're shaking pretty badly. Should I call Sister Kate to look at you?"

"The only person who needs looking after is yourself," she ground out, unclenching and clenching her right fist. "Sister Kate appeared to ask me why we hadn't set off yet. She told me you finished going over the details with Her Eminence an hour and a half ago."

Abel suddenly slammed his fist into his palm. "Oh, so we did!"

When he didn't say anything more-he, in fact, _resumed eating his sandwich_-Esther about lost it. "Father, why didn't you tell me you were done?"

"I didn't know where you were!" he protested, cheeks puffed with sandwich.

"Did you check my room?"

"…Um," was all he said before she bashed his head with her fist. She left him spewing bread particles on the floor, his two hands cradling his head and him crying out against cruel, mean Esther.

They left shortly afterward, Esther dragging luggage and Abel in tow, and by late afternoon, the two stepped off the train and into the city of Istvan. They were now on the main street. They had passed by an inn, several restaurants and cafes, shady buildings, crumbling buildings, and stores with sweets. They were inevitably heading towards…

Esther put away the map, fighting down a sad smile. A year doesn't change a place that much, she told herself. Even if one building is burnt down, all the rest of the buildings continue to stand. Home then isn't much different from home now.

She had almost convinced herself of this as she walked down the cobbled pavement, matching memory to street signs and building names, until she saw the charred remains of St. Matthias Church.

Wintry and numbing, the wind was as cold now as it was then. Esther lifted a hand to shield her hair from her eyes, wet and likely to catch the strands as they were. The young woman took a moment to calm her breathing and compose herself. When next she took a step, her eyes were dry and her gait was purposeful. There would be time for mourning, later. Right now she had a mission to complete.

Esther turned towards her companion. "Father, where should we meet up again?" She blinked. "Father?"

The man was nowhere in sight. Some odd feeling, a feeling of lightness, made her glance down at her pocket. With a dawning horror, Esther realized that the two of them now truly were broke. Esther began running down the street, her eyes sweeping from one building to the next. Where had she left him? Was he still standing in front of the shop window, ogling candy in the shape of one of man's most deadly creations? Why hadn't she noticed when he had stopped walking alongside her?

"What's the hurry, Esther?"

Esther halted abruptly, ice raking down her spine. She turned in the direction of the smooth, syrupy voice. "Dietrich," she breathed. The man sketched her a bow and looked up at her with a cheery smile. In the palm of his right hand he held a tiny pouch, tied with a bit of red ribbon. Her eyes widened.

"Dietrich, you…"

"Come now, Esther," his eyes took on a merry twinkle, "you're as vulnerable as ever. Did you think it was the wind?" He straightened and put a thoughtful finger to his lips. "You know, Esther, you're quite beautiful when you try to hold back tears. Your eyes go wide like _this_-" something sharp cut against her cheek and her eyes widened instinctively "-and your lips part ever-so-slightly. When you look like this, it makes me almost regret that I betrayed you."

A strangled cry leapt from her throat then, and her hand reached for the gun holster strapped to her leg.

"Ah, ah, can't have that now," came the smooth voice, and her arm froze in place, immobilized. Light glinted off the silver strings stretched taut over and beneath her arm. Grinning, the puppeteer crooked his finger, and Esther jerked forward by her right arm, her heels scraping harshly against the gravel alleyway. Her gloved fingers shook and strained, now far from grasping her gun.

"What do you want, Dietrich?" Esther forced through clenched teeth. How could string be so impossibly hard to break?

"I suggest you stop struggling, Esther, or else you'll mar that beautiful skin of yours." His eyes half-lidded, and then suddenly he was behind her, his fingers threading easily through her outstretched fingers.

"Why?" She shut her eyes, remembering a different time when this hand had held hers. She had felt warm then, buoyed with purpose and with hope, knowing she had another to stand beside her; now, she felt only the wind brushing icy lips against her stinging eyes and blanched cheeks. Where was the Dietrich she knew? Sweet, smiling Dietrich… He had been her world and now he overturned it.

"Esther!"

Blue eyes snapping open, Esther twisted her body just in time to see the bullet blaze through the strings round her arm. Within a second she grabbed the gun from her holster, pivoted, and aimed straight at Dietrich's heart.

"Guess I lose this round," her former partner said with a sad smile, and in spite of herself Esther's heart wrenched and the gun faltered in her hands. "This is what I love about you, Esther," the puppeteer smirked, before something snaked around her chest and snapped taut. "You wound me _here_," came the whisper, and then several things happened within a heartbeat.

She saw the barest hint of brown to her left side. She felt the softest breath graze her ear. A moment later and she was falling, cutting herself open on glinting silver. Red, deeper than the hue of her hair, trickled down her snow white habit, falling to mingle with the gravel and the dirt.

"Sorry, Father," was all she could manage before the words died in her throat. Her world lurched and two arms wrapped warm around her.

* * *

It was snowing when Esther awoke. Underneath the blankets, her hand moved to finger the bandages around her chest, her heart, without surprise. A weary sigh slipped from her lips, and Esther closed her eyes.

"Father," her voice came out low and gravelly, "are you there?"

"Esther!" She felt a presence overhead. "Thank God you're okay!"

She didn't open her eyes. "I failed the mission, Father. You were right. He did come, but I couldn't shoot. I should have bought time for you instead."

The room was silent for a little. Esther heard the rustle of clothing, of booted feet scuffling faintly against carpet. Then she felt something press against her lips.

Her eyes opened. "Father?" She stared first at the gun-shaped object and then at Abel, perplexed.

"From the store," Abel said with a wink. "I'll share my chocolate with you, just this once. You don't have to owe me anything," he added magnanimously.

"You took my money, didn't you," Esther said dryly. She stared at Abel for a little while longer, then with another sigh, she took the candy into her mouth.

"It's bitter," she said flatly.

"_What?!"_ He licked off the residual chocolate from his fingers. "It's, it's _dark chocolate!_" the priest wailed. "They tricked me! They assured me it was the sweetest chocolate around!" He stopped suddenly, deathly serious. "Esther, you know what?" He placed a tiny cellophane bag by her pillow. "I'm giving you this chocolate. You can have it all, serious. Don't worry about paying me ba-"

"Would you stop already?" Try as she might, Esther couldn't keep a whimper from escaping her mouth as her chest heaved, agitated.

"Ah, are you okay, Esther? Would you like some more chocolate? Here," and the man had the nerve to place another dark, gun-shaped chocolate at her mouth. She bit his fingers.

"Ah!" Abel stared balefully at her through his streaming tears. "That's just cruel, Esther. And here I was, performing an act of perfect kindness…"

Esther felt like crying. She turned her head away from Abel as her face crumpled. Why couldn't Abel ever take her seriously? Was she that much of a child? Were her troubles truly so small and insignificant, that she could never merit any more attention than an offering of chocolate and silly antics?

"I need to use the bathroom," Esther muttered, tossing off the blankets and pulling on her boots despite the pain enflaming her chest.

"Ah, Esther, let me help you," the man attempted to take her arm, but she brushed him off. "Um, do you know where the bathroom is?"

"I'll ask," Esther replied without looking at him. She rummaged through her belongings until she found a bar of soap and shampoo. She shut the door behind her with a quiet click.

She wandered about the second story floor until she found the door with the sign "Restroom" nailed onto it. Someone was using it already, so she had to wait. Esther sat on the floor, legs splayed straight in front of her, paying little mind to the dust and the dirt on which she sat. Thanks to Abel's tendency to splurge on food, Esther had directed the two of them to the cheapest inn in the area.

It was always like this. Esther always had to accommodate for Abel's laziness and lavish habits. Then, when Esther's own troubles surfaced, he paid little mind to them or berated her for worrying too much. It wasn't that Esther wanted Abel to take care of her problems or accommodate for her. All she wanted was for the man to simply listen to her and _be serious_. Was that too much to ask?

"Sorry to make you wait, miss."

Esther nodded at the man without bothering to look at him, then rose and entered the restroom, locking the door behind her. Steam moistened the room, making the walls and counter look not only dilapidated and dirty, but perspiring as well. Abel had bandaged Esther's wound without tampering with her clothes; she stripped off her bandages and her bloody habit, folding her habit as compactly as possible to minimize contact with the ground. She ran the shower for a bit, to clean off the stall, before finally stepping in.

Perhaps a shower had been a bad idea, Esther thought, as the spray hit her chest and she winced. The wound wasn't too deep, and neither was the water that hot, but still, it stung as the water pelted her and ran pink down her body. Trying to soap and shampoo herself down was a nightmare of sorts, too, as the motions pulled painfully at the stiff skin of her chest.

Also, partway through the shower, Esther realized her mistake. She had forgotten her towel. Between the questionable towel the inn provided and her bloody bandages, she would choose her bandages in a heartbeat. It was with a sinking heart that Esther turned off the water and stepped outside the stall. Sighing, she waited for her body to dry of its own accord.

Someone knocked on the door, and Esther jumped. "Someone's in here right now," she exclaimed, instinctively covering herself with her arms.

"Hey, Esther! It's Abel. You forgot your towel."

"Oh!" Esther froze for a few seconds, remembering her earlier train of thought about the priest, then sagged her shoulders. Enough was enough. Abel couldn't help who he was; if he was silly and liked to joke around, then that was just the way he was. It wasn't her place to ask for more. It was enough already that Abel was her friend. "I'm unlocking the door. Don't look, okay?"

"Right, right."

As she reached around the door, something soft and fuzzy was pressed into the palm of her hand. She took the towel gratefully and was about to shut the door when Abel interrupted her.

"Um, I brought some bandages too."

Esther paused at his thoughtfulness. "Thanks," she said, reaching around the door again. She blinked when nothing was put into her hand. "Father?"

"Does your chest hurt?"

"Um, it's okay. The wound reopened when I was showering, but it's mostly stopped bleeding now." Her arm was beginning to ache from holding it up for so long. "Father, could you hand me the bandages please?"

Esther could hear a small intake of breath on the other side of the door. Then, "Can I come in, Esther?"

Her mind went blank. "What?"

"It'll be near impossible for you to bandage yourself," Abel said in a rush. "You'll bleed all over the place if you try, and as cool as that might look, it doesn't feel that great, trust me. Let me help you out."

"But you-" _You're a man!_ was the obvious protest on her lips.

"I won't look! Promise!"

He did have a point. The strain of holding up her arm alone was beginning to have its toll; Esther could feel something trickle down her chest, and its slow, languid descent signaled clearly that it wasn't water. She retracted her arm back to her side. A grimace twisted her lips as she imagined having to reach her arm around to her back. Still, this was _Abel_, who was, quite frankly, second only to the Lord himself in terms of Esther's esteem. Abel was her partner, her friend, her hero, and for him to see her so…indisposed, was a thought downright embarrassing.

"Esther? You there?"

The nun bit her lip. On the other hand, she could trust Abel, couldn't she? That was what Esther had accused him of back before she knew of his Krusnik form: not placing enough trust in her. To not trust Abel now was to hurl her own words back in her face. Also, if she could entrust him with her life, why not this small task of bandaging her chest?

Trying desperately to keep her voice from wavering, Esther said quietly, "Let me dry myself off first. When I'm done I'll open the door."

"'Kay."

His casual voice redoubled the idea that she was being silly and worrying over nothing. Quickly Esther toweled herself off, wrapped the towel around herself, and before she could think to cower, opened the door halfway. She shut it the moment Abel entered. Which was a bad idea since in her haste Abel's overcoat got caught in the doorway.

"Ah, my mantle!" The priest squirmed and wiggled frantically to get the thing loose. Esther couldn't help but laugh at the sight as she freed the man. Then Abel turned to her with the bandages in hand, and her laughter died away.

"Um, Esther, you'll have to lower that a little. I don't see the mark," Abel said with a sheepish smile.

"Right." Esther turned before the flush could worm its way to her cheeks. "Don't look, okay!" With her back to him, Esther loosened the towel so that the wound over her breasts was fully exposed. "Go ahead," she told Abel in a small voice.

She heard the priest cough behind her. "All right then. Let me know if I miss the mark, or if it's too tight," Abel told her in a light voice. He stepped up close behind her.

Esther tried to help by lifting her arms to the sides, but this hurt too much to keep up for long. In the end, her bare arms lay against the starchy fabric of Abel's coat as he carefully maneuvered his arms below her armpits. Esther concentrated on regulating her breathing as Abel pulled the bandage from one hand to the other. She nearly jumped as a warm breath stirred the hair strands on top her head.

"Don't look!" she squeaked. She had forgotten how tall he was compared to her.

"Sorry," Abel said with a faint laugh. "Um, would you mind helping me out a little, Esther? You see, compared to me, you're a bit-"

Esther growled. "If you say short, I will make sure I put thirteen spoonfuls of salt in your tea every morning for a week, Father."

"_Esther, you wouldn't!"_

"I would."

"No, you wouldn't, because that would be spiteful and the Lord does not condone spite. Especially if it is petty."

"Insulting my height is petty in itself, Father. And could you please hurry, the wound has started bleeding again." Actually, the bleeding had stopped as soon as she had finished toweling, but Esther wasn't going to let Abel know that. The faster Abel went about his business the sooner this infernal flush could drain from her system.

Really, this was getting ridiculous, as Esther flushed harder when the cool bandage slipped over her hot skin. With the steam still lurking in the room from her shower, Esther felt more than a little light-headed.

"Wow, it's really warm in here, isn't it?" Abel said to no one in particular.

"That's because you're wearing both your overcoat and habit," Esther pointed out.

"Oh, so I am!"

Esther resisted the urge to roll her eyes.

"Sorry, Esther. This must feel pretty awkward."

"For you and me both," she sighed resignedly. Somehow, acknowledging their mutual discomfort loosened much of the tension in Esther's shoulders. She waited patiently as her partner cautiously wound the bandage several times around her chest.

"You know," Esther began conversationally, "Father Tres could bandage very adeptly. You do it pretty well, too. Thank you, Father."

"Why, you're certainly welcome, Esther!" She could practically see the beam on her partner's face. In fact… Esther tilted her head upwards and regarded Abel curiously. Yes, the grin was there. There were advantages to being a head and a neck shorter than the man after all.

Esther liked the smooth, strong quality to Abel's neck. It reminded her of a pillar, capable of weathering the strongest elements, and time. The jut of his chin was sharp and chiseled, firm. She wondered how many years this man had seen, how many years it had taken to temper this jaw to a thing of purpose and perfection.

"Father?" she breathed.

Esther could see his jaw twitch, and wished she could have peered into his eyes from her vantage point. "Yes?"

"How old are you?"

"Esther, how could you ask such a thing!" Her eyes narrowed as he laughed nervously. "No respectable woman would ask a man his age!"

"You have it the other way around," she muttered, and Abel twitched again.

"Well, if you must know," he said breezily, "I am over nine hundred."

She elbowed his arm viciously, and he dropped his head with a painful whimper. "You're lying!" she hissed.

"Actually," Abel said with a small smile, "I'm not."

Startled, Esther scrutinized the upside down face before her own. Abel's spectacles were fogged up from the steam so his eyes were obscured, but she could still see his eyebrows. Sincerity was there, written in the even lines of his brow, the small smile quirking his lips wryly.

"I'm a Krusnik, remember?" Abel said lightly, knotting the end of her bandage with deft fingers. He took several steps back away from her, and Esther was suddenly aware of the gulf that existed between them. "We Krusnik are vampires that feed on vampires. We live a long time, far longer than Terrans."

"But, Father, you don't seem that much different from me." She turned towards him, her eyes blue and firm. Innocent.

Abel gave her a small, sweet smile. He removed his overcoat and leaned over to place it carefully across her shoulders. "Thank you, Esther. Try not to catch a cold, all right? I'm heading back to our room."

As he turned to leave, Esther blurted out the first thing she could think of, "I'll eat all the chocolate!"

"Eh?" He swiveled his head to regard her quizzically. "I thought you said it was bitter."

"It is," she admitted, blushing, "but it isn't so bad. Since it was Father…who…um…"

He understood. She saw it in the way his blue eyes widened and then softened. Inexplicably, she was warmed to the heart when his smile broadened and he winked. "On second thought, I take back what I said. I can't let you have all that chocolate to yourself. You'll get fat."

"Gah!" Abel ducked as a bar of soap sailed over his head. "Hey, Esther, I think I hear something in our room. Probably the mice, but I'm going to check it out, okay? Bye!"

Esther smothered her chuckles as Abel tripped on the hem of his long uniform and sprawled over the floor. "What about Father Tres?" she called out to him.

"Tres, what about-oh crap, Tres! Sorry, Esther, but I'll have to take back that chocolate I bought with your-I mean, my money-no more, Esther!" Abel pouted miserably as a bottle of shampoo was chucked at his head.


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer:** Trinity Blood is copyrighted by Sunao Yoshida and Kiyo Kyujyo. I lay no claim of ownership to the title, and I make no profit from writing this story.

**Chapter 2**

"What do you mean we don't have enough money for train tickets?" Abel wailed, a thick cloud of misery hanging over his head.

Propped up on the bed opposite his, Esther looked far, far worse. Her red hair was sticking up all over the place like a sad porcupine, and there were heavy shadows underneath her eyes. The thin, itchy blanket she slept with had done nothing to combat the cold howling through the hundreds of cracks in the walls. One could hardly call this place a hotel room. A hotel room brought to mind thick, sturdy walls with good lighting and plumbing. This place resembled more a run-down shack.

"I already told you, Father, Dietrich stole the money meant for our tickets." Esther knuckled her eyes, wincing as the movement pulled at her chest wound. Part of the pain had gone away, but her chest still ached and itched. She lowered her hands and clutched at the bed covers, shivering.

Abel regarded her with a startled look. He glanced down at the overcoat pooled around his knees and then at Esther. "Hey, when did I get this back?"

"I finished sewing my uniform back together last night, so I didn't need it," Esther told him, trying not to let her teeth clatter too loudly.

"Oh. Well, here. Looks like you need it more than I do." Abel got up and was about to drape the overcoat around Esther when she protested.

"It's cold, Father. You should worry about yourself first."

"I'm fine," Abel chimed cheerily. The overcoat settled firmly over her shoulders, and the priest ruffled Esther's unruly hair fondly. Abel's sacrifice would have been entirely noble and touching, had not a crack in the wall decided, at that moment, to fall more completely to shambles.

"E-Esther?" Snow was beginning to blow through the hole, and with it, biting, wintry wind. The poor man was shaking like a leaf. He was trying-and failing-to not glance surreptitiously at his overcoat.

Esther surprised him by moving aside on the bed and holding one side of his overcoat open. The young woman stared resolutely away from the priest. When several minutes passed and Abel didn't move, Esther finally mustered the nerve to glare at him. "Well?" she clipped, fighting the blush rising to her cheeks.

"Oh!" The priest looked like he underwent a sudden revelation. He positively beamed. "You did a good job with the stitching, Esther! Can't even see the rip! Father's proud of you!" Abel cocked his hand like a gun and winked.

The blush turned to something resembling murderous rage, and Abel took an uncertain step backwards. "Um, did I say something wrong?"

"Never mind!" Esther jerked the overcoat around herself, and muttered underneath her breath about certain clerical idiots.

"Hey! I heard-oh!" A sudden flush overcame Abel's cheeks, before he gave her his silly smile. "Aw, you're so nice, Esther! You wanted to share my mantle!"

The young woman reddened to the roots of her hair. "Not anymore."

"What? But I'm cold!"

"You said you were fine."

"But that was before that-" pointing at the tiny heap of snow "-happened."

"Argh," Esther growled, throwing up her hands, "I give up! You are impossible!"

"Does that mean-yay, you're the best, Esther!" Abel huddled underneath his overcoat with Esther, the silly smile still stuck on his face. "Mm, warm!"

"Anyway," Esther muttered a little later, when her blush had died down, "what are we going to do about returning to Rome? We can't walk there again, not in this weather."

"Not to worry! I always keep a little money stashed away for emergencies like this."

"You do?" Esther asked eagerly. Abel gave her a thumbs up. He began rummaging through his pockets, looking increasingly frantic as each one turned up with candy wrappers, lollipop sticks, or sugar packets. In the end, Abel gave his partner a morose look. "All I have is four dinars."

"Well, we'll work something out," the nun said with a weak smile. "Technically, we haven't completed the mission yet." Her eyes grew distant, and Esther didn't see the worried look her partner leveled at her. She stared down at her hands, not seeing them. "Dietrich might still be somewhere around here. I want to see him again. This time, for sure, I'll capture him."

Abel placed a hand on her shoulder. She turned her head questioningly. "Don't push yourself, Esther. I'm here too, remember."

She shook her head. "Thank you for your concern, Father, but this is something I can do."

"All the same."

They sat in silence for a little, the two of them no longer shivering, warmth pooling where their shoulders met.

Esther broke the silence quietly, nostalgia coloring her words. "Dietrich used to do this for me."

Abel was horrified. "What?! You mean share his body with you?"

She flashed the priest an annoyed look. "No, this," she tugged on Abel's overcoat. "He'd wrap his scarf around the both of us and hug me tightly, telling me to keep warm. He always had a smile for me. I never thought," she clenched her fists bitterly, "it was all for his amusement. It must have been for some other reason." Abel remained silent.

"Father, I asked you earlier," Esther spoke again, "but you didn't answer me." She met Abel's eyes directly. "What does Her Eminence want to retain Dietrich for? Please don't change the subject, Father Nightroad," she added as Abel opened his mouth. "I need to know."

And somehow, she had the dreadful feeling that she knew precisely what he was going to say before he said it. Nothing had changed from the time before, Esther noted sardonically.

In sum, her partner told her that, as a fledgling AX member, the full details of the mission needed to be excluded from her. It would have stung, hearing these words, had Esther not heard them before. She felt only an ache where she had been crushed before.

Silently, Esther regarded the man beside her. She had told him the other night that he was not much different from herself, but she knew that, in reality, such an idea was foolish optimism on her part. The gap between him and her was enormous. For one thing, Abel was a true AX agent. Her measly power as a gun-toting nun would never amount to the devastation he wielded with one swipe of his Krusnik fingertips. Esther did not ever want such a deadly power at her own disposal, but she saw with clarity now what it was that set Father Abel, Tres, Leon, even Sister Kate apart and made them AX. They possessed power. As for Esther…she had only her faith and her ideology to offer. Considering, however, that they all united under the Catholic banner, faith and ideology were quite obviously redundant.

Perhaps Father Nightroad had a point. Threading her hands loosely together, Esther smothered her thoughts before they could germinate to something more insidious. Her eyelids felt precariously weighted; any moment now and they would drift shut, sending her straight back to the oblivion from which she awoke.

"Father, we haven't decided on our course of action," murmured Esther, cerulean eyes darkening as her eyelashes descended with an inaudible swoosh. Her shoulder slipped partway down his arm, and instead of righting her, Abel wrapped both arms around his partner and drew her to his chest. Silver strands mingled shyly with red as Abel rested his chin against the curve of Esther's head. When next her dearest friend spoke, his words were quiet, deep with vibration.

"Rest, Esther."

She did, her lips curved in silent gratitude.

* * *

In her dream, her hand moved. Her fingers splayed against the jut of his jaw; they trailed downwards, stopped.

Her fingertips skimmed across the thin layer of skin where his pulse thudded, rhythmic and soft. Ah, here was what she was looking for. In her dream, her hand clenched.

She should have awoken by this point. Reality should have reared its head again, drenching her world in earthly tones and horrified breaths. Yet her hand continued to hold his neck, her eyes wide and her mouth immovable as the man-her dearest friend, something whispered sweetly into the shell of her ear-began to frown in his sleep.

His hand moved upwards to swat at her hand, as if it were a fly or a mosquito. Her dream self jolted. When the pressure remained at his neck, the man finally put his hand on hers and pried.

A tingling sensation rippled through her head, ending at her eyes. When Esther awoke from her dream, which was precisely the moment Abel's eyes flew open, she was on her back with her hand clenched around his neck and his gun against her chest.

She could feel the wild beating of his heart where her hand dug into his pulse. At the same time, she was acutely aware of the sluggish beat of her own heart, as if someone had drained the blood from her arteries and thoughtfully injected painkillers. She could feel, beneath her stationary left hand, the scratchy fur of the blanket against her smooth palm. Esther sent one last, horror-stricken look at her partner before the muscles in her hand spasmed and, without her consent, began to strangle in earnest.

_Can't choke with just one hand_, the sweet voice murmured regretfully. _Your hand is too small. Next time, Esther. Have you visited the cemetery yet?_ And then, as if an electrical impulse had jolted through her, Esther's hand went lax. She could feel her heart beat again.

Neither of them moved until Abel finally lifted the gun away from Esther and placed it on the nightstand. Her partner offered her a shaky smile, a steady hand.

"Well, that was scary," he said lightly, as he helped her up from her prone position. "I hope I don't wake up like this every day, sleeping near you."

Guilt wrenched her gut, needled her heart. Her partner saw the apology in her eyes, and he interrupted before her mouth could shape the words. He clapped his hands on her shoulders and burst out, "Don't worry about it, Esther! Remember what I told you that one time in the forest? Things like this happen all the time-" her eyebrows raised incredulously and Abel looked pleased "-so I'm used to it. All part of the job." He winked.

That finally elicited a smile from Esther, even if it was self-deprecating. Abel frowned. "Hey, now…"

Eyes widening abruptly, Esther stared down at her right hand. She threw her other hand over it, passing over the back of her hand and feeling between her fingers. Abel blinked as his partner stiffened. From around each finger, as if they had been jeweled rings, Esther unwound a glint of silver, light as hair, hard as steel.

"Where are my gloves?" Abel was nearly wrenched off the bed as Esther threw her legs over the mattress and stood up in one tight motion, his hands still on her shoulders. He released her quickly before he fell off.

"You're not wearing them?" Abel reached for the round spectacles on the nightstand as Esther searched the room, her bare feet skimming across the old carpet. Had the weather been warmer, the whirlwind of dust stirred by Esther's skirts would have near choked them to death. As it was, the dust settled like peat on the floor, and the room felt asphyxiating.

The dust motes everywhere and the lingering guilt warped her voice to something bitter. "Couldn't you feel my fingers as they strangled you?" she bit out, regretting the words the moment they left her mouth. Abel, bless the man, took in the question seriously and ignored the tone.

"I was half-asleep," the priest explained sheepishly, "and there were more important details to pay attention to. When did you take them off?"

"When I was sewing last night," Esther answered, in a considerably more humbled tone. "Can't do needlework with gloves on."

Her partner assisted in the search for the missing gloves, grimacing as he knelt to check underneath the bed. He swiped his hand underneath, and his eyebrows shot up. Abel stood back up. When she turned to ask his luck, Esther distrusted the glint in his eyes. The priest looked as if he were privy to some secret that would only end up humiliating her.

"What?" she asked warily.

"Nothing," he said instantly, about as innocent as a child caught with his hand in a jar with thirteen sugars. She was over faster than the dust behind her could settle.

She knelt down. "What are you-"

"Esther! Look what I found!" His tone bade her look up before she could check underneath the bed. Any curiosity on the monster beneath the bed vanished on her part.

"Where were they?" Esther took the gloves from Abel's hands, examining them closely.

"Between the bed and the nightstand. Must have fallen there last night," Abel chirped cheerfully. "Anything else with which to play hide-and-seek?"

"Just a certain bastardly puppeteer," the nun muttered darkly, ignoring Abel's gasp of "Language!" and tracing the split seams of her glove. The steel strings had completely severed the glove's four fingers, leaving four holes yawning delicately where white fabric should have been.

"Father Nightroad?"

"Yes?"

"I have a favor to request of you."

"Ask away. No need to be so formal, Esther." The final word, her name, was said on a softer note.

She could hear the winds whistling softly through the cracks, feel the cold begin to pool and freeze. The shredded glove fell silently to the floor, a lone white patch amidst a film of dust. She raised her eyes to meet Abel's. "Next time we encounter Dietrich, Father, I would like to request that you let me kill him. Please don't interfere," she said quietly, as she saw the protest in his widened eyes. "I've had enough of his games." Almost in an undertone, "…He was never the Dietrich I thought him to be."

She thought she could feel his pulse underneath her palm again. Steady, staccato beats thrumming hard against her clammy skin-a code of fear, no doubt. But Abel never did fear for himself.

"Don't." Two callused hands, worn from centuries of unsought bloodshed, settled gently against the sides of her head. "Don't kill, Esther. Don't stain your mind with the memories of nightmares. Please." His forehead, looming above, lowered silently to touch hers, a soft graze that simultaneously brushed and burned.

"What else can I do?" whispered the young woman, as she closed her eyes and drew away from the touch. Yet she did not extract herself completely. Two pale hands rose to cover, almost respectfully, the hands of her superior.

"Remember Gwylla, Esther?" She did. She remembered the body, the splash of blood and shadows against moonlit clothing, the smile of a man who should not have died but did. "Remember what you said afterwards?"

A thumb slid gently over her left cheek; she refused to open her eyes. "It's not the same, Father. Dietrich will never be the innocent Gwylla was. He deliberately manipulates others to play with them. Torment them. Make believe that one has the truest friend in order to shatter him. I won't stand for that anymore. I won't."

"Just don't kill. Please, Esther. Find some other way to stop him."

It was then she opened her eyes. And saw, for the first time, without misguided eyes, exactly who she was to him.

She wondered if Dietrich had believed the same when first he saw her. Had the same light shone from her face then, marking her as the ideal candidate for betrayal? Had he looked down at her with those same pitying eyes, seeing in her how easily she could be torn inside to shreds?

The sadness cut at her. The soft, quiet sadness of Abel's eyes-directed at her, for her-shredded what foolish hopes she had harbored for the kind man. He feared for her not because he personally worried-personally cared-but because he saw in her a child who needed protecting. An innocent, weak and unstable child who could not handle murder because it would destroy her.

She was not so fragile. She would not be his obligation. She could stand un-crumpled on her own.

"I will try but I cannot promise," said Esther. Before Abel could so much as open his mouth, however, she continued, "He must be stopped, Father. He will kill others, drive them to madness, if he is allowed to live. This is my battle, and mine alone."

"Aa," Abel said softly, and rested his chin against her forehead. He sounded resigned. Esther started from the contact and drew swiftly away.

"Let's go, Father Nightroad. We've wasted enough time here as it is."

* * *

When night fell, the two headed for the cemetery. Moonlight, dim and cold, watered the emptying streets. Esther wrapped her hands within the folds of her skirt, wishing her gloves had not been torn.

"Cold?"

"Fine, Father."

A breath puffed in the air, pale and smoke-like, in reply. His pout made her smile.

They reached the cemetery in little time, threading among gravestones to search for the puppeteer. Because the moonlight drove back full darkness, his shadow could be found stretched across the head of several stones.

"You're late, Esther." His soft sigh floated through the air, clothing rustling as his figure straightened from the stone he leaned against.

Esther watched him. "Sorry, Dietrich. I hadn't realized you specified a time."

"No worries, sweet. It heightened my anticipation."

Beside her, Abel coughed into his glove with a quiet, "Pervert!" Esther resisted the urge to roll her eyes.

"Well? What is it, Dietrich? What did you call me here for?"

"So blunt." She could hear the amusement in his voice. "You've changed from the delicate little mouse at the abbey."

Irritation was building within her. "Stop stalling, Dietrich. State your business."

"If you insist." Within a heartbeat, his figure was beside her and Esther took a reactive step backwards. She heard a click to her right as her partner removed the safety lock on his gun.

"I've missed you, Esther," his breath fanned across her skin. Something about him seemed to make time still for Esther. Perhaps it was his soft, hypnotic voice. Perhaps it was because nostalgia followed him, a noxious mist of memories that warmed her even as they soured.

Dietrich leaned down. He was forever shattering her resolve.

As the bullet pierced his body, slamming him against a headstone to her left, Esther was momentarily frozen. With half a growl, half a cry, she swiped the back of her hand across her lips. Angrily, she attempted to remove the memory of his lips burning against hers.

"Get back, Esther!" Abel's sharp voice cut through her scattered thoughts; she obeyed without thinking. Ducking behind a gravestone immediately to her back and to her right, Esther narrowly avoided being shot by her partner's gun. Steel bullets flew through the air, little sparks of lightning in the evening darkness. She watched as each bullet caused Dietrich's body to jerk against the stone.

One part of her wanted to cry and scream no. Another part was dark with satisfaction. Now, there would be no more manipulation. No more games with memories which simultaneously repulsed and drew her.

Abel did her a favor by laying to waste a putrid source of memories. Why, then, did she feel like weeping from her core?

Damn him, for betraying her. Damn her, for caring about someone who had never cared for her.

* * *

"You okay?"

Esther did not trust herself to speak. She nodded against the pillow, her back to Father Nightroad, then drew the covers silently over her head. She had hoped he would leave her alone after the cemetery affair, but after they had returned to the motel, it seemed that Abel was doubly concerned for her mental state of health. Esther wanted to snort. Had she not told Abel that she was willing to fight Dietrich? So what if she grieved? This did not change the fact that she was glad he was dead.

The mattress dipped as Abel's weight shifted it. She looked away as Abel folded the blanket down to her chin. The hand curling against her cheek surprised her, but she resolutely schooled her expression to not let it show.

Abel, it seemed, lived to torment her. "May I sleep with you tonight?" He indicated the crack in the wall, the second time that day. "The night is rather cold."

Her gaze snapped to his, and she hoped to high heaven that she was not blushing too hard. What a poor excuse, though she could not discern the reason behind the question: his eyes were simultaneously kind and unreadable. After three seconds of fierce internal debate, Esther looked away again, his palm on her cheek following the motion. "Just try not to hog all the covers," she muttered.

Abel slipped between the sheets, chirping a happy, "'Kay."

"And don't try anything funny," she clipped, as his hand slid from her cheek down to her waist. She scowled as he pulled her closer.

Abel giggled at her discomfort. "Relax, Esther." She could not, not when she was so horrified that a grown man could giggle. "Just go to sleep."

She tried, the unfamiliar warmth at her back making her body feel stiff, over-aware. She tried to regulate her breathing, hoping that Abel disregarded the catch in her breath when his hand moved from her waist to her stomach. He traced patterns there, knowing she would be ticklish. She knew this had been a mistake.

Then her mind shut down as Abel kissed the skin at the back of her neck.

"What are you doing?" she asked quietly, afraid her voice would shatter something in this peculiar little world of theirs. They were boxed in by four thin walls and the absence of company. Not an unfamiliar state of affairs, but strange, considering Abel's embrace. Had something changed? She thought not. What, then, drove Abel to physical intimacy?

She turned to face him, wondering what she would see reflected in his eyes. There was affection. When he bent down and kissed her softly on the cheek, she thought she saw something more. But as always, hope for Abel's love never culminated in more than wishful thinking.

"Do you hate me, for killing him?"

She considered the question. She knew that Abel, a man with a conscience that lived despite the wear and tear of centuries, cared deeply for the hearts of others. He was a priest, if not a Krusnik. But powerful as he was, Abel could not eliminate the demons which lurked beyond the tangible, the ones which surrounded a person's heart.

She saw that physical affection was his way of treating a brokenhearted child, and in her mind she tasted despair. In this instant, she knew with quiet certainty that her relationship with the priest would never change. Even should her skin sag and crease with old age, he would continue to look upon her and transpose her image with a child's, one with an upturned face and the bluest eyes. Esther was not an idiot. Thanks to Dietrich's deceit, she had learned to gauge other's reactions to her, to weigh her beliefs against what others did. She was not deluded enough to believe Abel loved her enough to spend the rest of her comparatively short life with her.

So in that moment Esther made a decision. If he would not change the way he saw her then she would have to change it herself. He wanted to see her as a child eternal, a weak-willed woman he must shelter and protect? So be it. Moonlight glinted off the whites of Abel's eyes as, steel blue eyes locking with his, Esther leaned forward and captured his lips with hers.

Abel instantly jerked away. "Esther—" he began, his tone rising.

"I love you, Father." There. It was said. It could not be undone. A weight, heavy like a hundred rain-beaten stones, seemed to lift from her heart. She felt light, carried on by a tide of acute happiness, even as horror dawned on Abel's face. The night seemed to drop five degrees, cold air pressing into the space where Abel's body had withdrawn from hers.

"Esther," he began again and cut off. Hearing him say her name near broke her. A high note of panic colored his voice, and she bit her lip against the flare of pain at knowing he did not want her. Still she would not give up.

"No, don't—ah, Esther—" She dipped to kiss the column of his neck, trace the frantic bob of his Adam's apple with her soft lips. His hands alternatively gripped and pulled her hips as if he did not know his mind. "Don't, I'll—"

She felt it, then. The change in his body as she leaned in close. Abruptly her courage deserted her as she stilled her lips and, startled, attempted to pull away. Her wide eyes met his hooded ones in a beat of silence before his mouth crashed into hers.

His hands burned where they touched her. They skittered from place to place as if with a note of desperation, someone who has held back. His long slender fingers cupped her cheeks, tangled in her hair, slid along her sides and drew her close by her hips. He was shaking, she realized. Strong as his grip was, a fine tremor shook him from head to toe.

"What is it?" Esther murmured between a string of kisses. Some he peppered on her lips; others his mouth lingered so long, so fierce that she starved for breath.

His forehead rested against hers, his warm breath dusting down her cheeks.

"Father?"

"I have lived over nine hundred years, Esther. During this time I have loved the same woman." The weight of stones returned; Esther jerked in Abel's embrace. He clutched her tighter. "No, hear me out. I have loved the same woman but she has been dead most of these years. I love her still. I am sorry. I cannot change this and I have no wish to. Lilith is as much a part of me as the Krusnik blood flowing in my veins. But you, Esther, I… I am a monster. Does that scare you?"

Random, fragmented, his train of thought was difficult to follow. The insecurity that laced his words was not, however. "No. We've already discussed this. You are stupid, bumbling Father, nothing less. For having lived so long, your memory is surprising short, Father," she teased. Abel let out a quiet breath of laughter.

"For having lived so short, you are unsurprisingly too forgiving. Even if I do this?" The air around them crackled with electricity. One moment blunt human fingernails rested against her cheek; the next, the light tip of something sharp touched her skin and she knew he had transformed. She laced his claws with her hand and bit his bottom lip gently.

"Stupid Father, no matter what you are you are beautiful. If you weren't, you wouldn't be able to love someone for almost nine hundred years."

He drew in a breath. His eyes shut, his eyelashes stark against his bloodless skin, and he looked like he was in agony.

"Father?" she called softly, alarmed.

"Esther."

"Yes?"

"I do not want you calling me Father for what is about to happen next."

"What is about to happen?" she echoed uncertainly.

"Yes. Can you call me Abel?"

"Abel? Why… Oh." Heat flared in her cheeks as his free hand settled on a button of her uniform. His eyes blazed as he opened them. "You want…"

"Yes."

Esther bit her lip.

"If you want to laugh, laugh," he said, deflating. "As kinky as it sounds, I don't think having someone call out 'Father' in the middle of ah, vigorous activity, is all that stimulating. Makes me really feel my age. Or like I'm doing illicit things."

No helping it. She did laugh then, full, pealing chuckles which washed over the silence in warm tones. The smile that split her lips could have rivaled the sun in brightness. An answering grin broke over Abel's face.

"So?" He raised an eyebrow, inches from her lips.

"So?" she threw back at him, a light dancing in her eyes.

"My name?"

"I see no reason to say it yet."

"Is that a challenge?"

"It is the truth, _Father Nightroad_."

"We shall see about that."

_Fin_


End file.
